The Old, Middle, and New Death
by Summer Isabelladonna Cathrine
Summary: There is a girl who is hundreds of years old but in 1868 looks like a nine year old girl and in 1887 when she meets Ciel looks 15. She is running from an old cult who want to turn her into a full daemon because they managed to turn her half-way. Ciel and Sebastian try and destroy the offenders. Possible Sebastian x OC pairing
1. Chapter 1 Intro to Hell

Chapter 1:

"Hey Annie can you get the door?"

Marianne looks around, Seeking the location of the voice, once she spots her mother standing in the far corner of the room she smiles, nods, and walks with increasing speed over to the front door. In the doorway is a tall man with chocolate brown hair and a large smile.

"Brother!" Marianne shrieks, and jumps up into her older siblings arms. "What are you doing here?!"

Replying the man says Simply "What kind of brother would I be if I couldn't show up for my little sisters ninth birthday?"

Marianne looks back her mouth wide with exaggerated shock as she remembers. 'It's my birthday! I totally forgot!" She grins a smile so wide it hurts her cheeks and hopped out of the brunettes hold.

"Mother!" "Its my birthday today!"

"How could you forget deary? It only happens once a year!" Her mother said in playful exasperation.

Marianne shrugs beaming still and runs down the hallway joy filled. She opens a mahogany door to her right and enters the dim room. Her pace slows and before she comes to a stop in front of a blank desk with a single picture in a frame. She sits on the ground facing the picture and frowns slightly. "Father?" "It's my birthday today. I'm turning nine, that means next year my age will be double digits. I wonder how different it will be a year from now... if things will get even more complicated." The girl mused. She then looks at the picture again and thinks 'I wish you were here still so mother wouldn't be so sad...'

" I love you. Even though I don't remember you very well."

"Tell the Angels in heaven or the Demons in hell, hello for me, whichever you are in."

The cake. This was the very last part of the celebration for the end of the day and therefore Marianne's anniversary of birth. It was almost completely done and was about to be pulled out by the loving care-free mother of three live children and five others who had died.

"Mommy? Can we have it chocolate flavored?" An innocent juvenile voice asked as the Marianne looked towards the oven with a hazy desire filled gaze, wishing, that she could just eat it all by herself.

"Honey must I remind you? It IS chocolate. And if it wasn't what would I do? It is already in the oven!" The child's mother teased.

The child said nothing, lost in her own thoughts and wondering why she felt so filled with unease. Something...something was wrong. She looked out the window into the bushes. Yes. Yes it was something out there...

"Mother get down."

"W-what?"

"GET DOWN NOW!" The young child who, mind you, knew much much more than she really should, screeched. Her bell like voice was like a signal to those hiding outside. They pulled their guns out, prepared to kill.

***BANG!**

The oven shattered flinging glass and half-cooked cake batter towards the unsuspecting mother, she glanced down and saw the bullet hole was less than an inch from their supposed target. That was all the time she had to do when yet another bullet pierced the outer-laying shell of the head going through soft white tissue and going out through the other end. Blood. Blood covered the kitchen counters, utensils, what remained of the crushed oven, and lastly the poor child of the now deceased woman who had cared for the young brunette since birth. The girl stared. In utter incompetence, millions of emotions crushing her all at the same time.

"Oh." She breathed. The word, that wasn't even a word, a noise of little significance. Pounds of melancholy pressed themselves upon her and she stared her eyes watering yet not providing enough liquid to make the droplets climb out of her eyes... it hurt. There was stinging. On her hand. One of the fingers... was shot off. Her pinky. She looked out the window, the men smiled as if they were some long lost friends who had come to give another gift for her ninth birth-day.


	2. Chapter 2 Exit From Hell

Marianne stood straighter, glaring at the men who shot her new mother and walked briskly towards her adoptive bothers old room which was his before he moved out. Slamming the door open she stepped in and saw the young smith lying on the bed. Asleep. 'Dammit.'

Walking over to the bed she pulled the covers away in a hurried manner and shook the man thoroughly. A groan. She shook harder and this time yelled angrily into his ear. She knew that it was almost no use, and that the men would find him even if he got away.  
"Smith. You have got to go."

"Arghh..what?" Tom moaned, not fully awake from taking a short cat nap.

" I have to deal with something important. You could get hurt in the process." The girl explained. "Some people from the orphanage have come to get me."

" Hurt?! Doesn't that mean its dangerous for you?!"

Marrianne paused, looking at her adoptive brother. ' These people care... about me...' she thought her pain toughened gaze softening.  
" In the kitchen. has been shot." She replied. " She is dead and you must go if you wish to not get killed as well."

The boys eyes widened and he gave a short laugh "Y-your kidding right?" He stuttered rubbing the back of his neck nervously. It was a humans nature, to defy the truth if it was to large, to emotionally haunting, or just very unlikely. "It's not very funny you know."

"Oh sadly, I'm quite serious."

* * *

She stared at the two dead, mangled, bodies lying in a small heap in front of her. Again. Tom had idiotically gone running over to try and get proof to what she said and, of course, got shot almost instantly. No tears fell and no feelings were felt. She went to her 'room' and pulled out her bag. The girl heard a bang of the main door and she pulled out a Colt Model 1861 Pocket Navy. The room door opened.

"Well, well, well" A slimy, sickly sweet voice taunted "What do we have 'ere?"

Ann turned around, looking at a man around his mid-thirties with disgusting greasy, mousy, dark blond hair that could almost count for a barf colored green. He had a bad shave and there was a couple scabs and scars around his chin left by a razor.

" Well, what does it bloody LOOK like you've got here?!" The girl said crudely, seeing the man and noticing how he was almost arrogant in the way he figured that she was trapped. Such a big, stupid, yet common mistake. " A nine year old girl with a gu-"

"SILENCE!" The man shouted,his voice rising. "I was hired to fetch you four YEARS AGO! A bloody _year_!" His face was flushed with fury and outrage as he loudly expressed his frustrations. A vein on his forehead looked as if it was going to burst, and he wasn't even looking at the girl anymore, glaring down at the floorboards murderously. " But no! It was so much harder than I thought it would be! and when I asked to quit they tried to kil-"

***CRACK***

"I don't care." Said the girl who, appeared, to be nine years old. Marianne had shot him, through the head, with her favorite gun. She glared at his now dead carcass and shot her eyes up to the slightly ajar door and froze. Another man stood in the doorway staring at his hunting-mate with wide frightened eyes, shaking in fear. Anne turned the guns nose at him and smiled an angelic, sweet, childlike grin.

"Hello sir! Whats your name? I'm Marianne but you can call me Annie."

The man stared at her not sure what to make of this girl who had just before, shot his friend, but now was acting like a small sweet child. As he calculated Annie got more and more impatient, walking forward still pointing the gun. "Give me your hands." He obliged, reaching and holding them out, palms up. "Don't. Move. A muscle." She said and reached into the pocket of her navy blue cardigan with one hand, still pointing the revolver at his head. Pulling out a long thick leather band with blood caked on the edges, she paused, as if thinking.

"Sir, I would like you to know, that I am a monster. Guns will not kill me, and I don't need them to kill you. Understand?"

The mans eyes widened and he noticed that the girls eyes where a dull red color, when not five minutes ago they were a strange almost striped blue green. He nodded, figuring that he would not escape from this... this MONSTER. This...**DAEMON. **

* * *

"Sir, before, I believe that I asked your name."

The character of question looked up from his position on the floor. His arms and legs were tied together with the earlier mentioned leather band, though this time, there was fresh blood on them. He had cuts on his wrists, torso, and legs. Oddly the girl had avoided his arms, head, and face. "Harold, Harold Richardson."

"Well Harold, you're in quite a pickle aren't you?" Anne met the mans eyes, almost saddened that she was going to have to kill him and add another Reason She Was Going To Hell to her 'Reasons-She-Was-Going-To-Hell' list.

"Who hired you?" A serious tone in her voice Anne was not messing around and had anyone stumbled upon the scene, they would have known that. Though the man seemed to be going through a stage of shock and being held at gun point by a child figure, it was no surprise, but Annie did not have the time.

"Now Harold, buddy ol' pal, listen up. Somebody must've heard those gunshots, and when you hear guns, what do you do? That's right, you go to the police and that would not be good for any of us. Look, do you have a family? Well?" Harold nodded looking as if he was about to cry, possibly because of his wounds, the situation or maybe just the thought of his loved ones. "Yeah, well, I still have to kill you, but if you cooperate I will let you write your will and your final words to them, and not blow your brains out your face so it can be a open casket funeral. 'Kay?" Harold nodded again and spoke.

"The Guidici sent me. They said something about...finishing the processv of turning you? They didn't actually want me to kill you, just fetch you." Anne paled noticably now slightly worried about how the event might take place if they sent ALL of thier workers at once and not just two. '...The Guidici...' she thought. 'That means Judges in Italian.'

"Is this all you know?" She asked not really minding anymore now that she knew the name of the group.

"The...the leader... calls himself King Daniel."


End file.
